The Dawning Hour
by Tangledupandsideways
Summary: When Cal is asked to go to Afghanistan again to assess a potential US disaster, he has to choose between his integrity and his family. But with each new day, more knowledge dawns on him and he has to decide what truly matters to him most before he loses the chance. (established Callian) 30/06/17: THIS STORY is discontinued to be rewritten - details inside
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: First of all, thank you to everyone who read this story and/or**_ _ **encouraged me through comments and follows. At this point, I will not be completing this story as is. This story had a mind of its own and went off in a direction I didn't expect. I've re-evaluated and re-read, but now**_ _ **that I know how the plot is meant to progress, I realise this draft is unusable and I have to rewrite every chapter. The pacing is now off-kilter and there are plot points that need to be removed and gaping holes to be filled. I also just don't like my use of symbolism. I absolutely will rewrite this story. I see it in my head so much more clearly now. I expect to get to it maybe September? I have a very busy summer ahead with another writing project, a transfer of school and change of program, and a move to another province. But, I am already chipping away at it, just slowly. I don't think it will take too long because none of my fanfiction is ever long.**_

 **The Dawning Hour**

Chapter One

Despite everything Gillian Foster has learned about Cal Lightman in the nine years she's known him, there are still parts of him she doesn't yet understand. She wants to know all of who he is, but he only shows himself in slivers of truth, only a little at a time. And, she does know that those times are much more frequent when he's with her. So, when Cal nudges her awake before any light at all starts streaking in through the semi-sheer curtains of the windows, Gillian just grunts and purses her lips in displeasure, wondering what the hell is wrong with this man and actually wanting the answer.

"Wakey, wakey," he singsongs.

Gillian pouts even further at the tune, looking almost childish in her reluctance to get up.

"What do you want?" Gillian grumbles as she slowly peels one eye open in suspicion.

"Not _that_ , Gill. Just want to talk," he says. He shifts to sit up against the headboard.

He readjusts the sheets, so they still cover Gillian completely.

"In the morning," she replies, already relaxing back into her pillow, her short brown hair fanning out around her head in a perfect halo.

"It's a new day, Gill," he whispers, reaching out to stroke a palm along her cheek.

He doesn't know what makes him do it; he just doesn't want to stop himself. And if the soft sound that Gillian releases means anything at all, she takes comfort in the contact also.

"Sun's not up, yet. I'm not up, yet," she says, but he can see the flinch of her face as she realises the words are untrue.

She's too far roused. It will take some time for her to fall back asleep. So, she sighs and turns onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow and resting her chin in her palm. She opens her eyes slowly and finds she has to look upwards to see Cal once her eyes adjust to the dimmest setting of the floor lamp he'd turned on.

The pale yellow lamplight washes over her face, her eyes a stormy colour in the haze of sleep and her hair mussed from the pillow, but shining even so. She's beautiful this way, cloaked in a simple kind of vulnerability and one of his old grey t-shirts; the neckline gapes and the worn fabric slips down to bare one freckled shoulder that reflects the low light and calls his eye.

"I want you to move in with me," he tells her, carefully ensuring he doesn't close himself off to her watching.

He does that sometimes, shuts her out, even if he doesn't quite mean to. And sure, he's a little nervous, mostly that she'll say no or laugh at him or question everything they'd built together, but he wants her to see that. He wants her to know just how serious he is in his request. He wants her to understand why he had to wake her in the wee hours of the morning instead of just waiting for a decent time.

Gillian's eyebrows rise up a fraction before furrowing lower, closer together. It's not anger; it's more like fear, with little hints of confusion muddling up the expression.

"Cal," she sort of gasps, suddenly looking a lot closer to stricken as the words sink in.

"I know you're afraid," he tells her gently, reaching for her hand in the semi-darkness.

She presses her hand into his open palm, threading her fingers between his and offering a little squeeze.

"Then why are you asking?" she breaks in a quiet voice.

"Because I love you, because fear isn't always something to run from, 'cause I want you with me, always," he lists, deliberately softening his tone and brushing his thumb across the back of her hand.

"Look, Gill, I'm not asking you to move in tomorrow. Take a drawer, clutter up the top of my dresser, spend an extra night or two here rather than away. Just... I want you to be ready, take your time and all that."

"Slow," she says, her lips pursing.

Cal looks at her, trying a little too hard to see her decision before she voices it, so he can prepare himself if it's unfavourable. When his focus shatters, he notices the sun has already risen, so quickly that he didn't see the pinks and purples streaking across the sky before the natural source lit up the room. It's as if Gillian's just absorbed all the light, how bright she looks, how beautiful. The fear is still there, but it's less. Maybe that's all it will take if he's lucky. Maybe that means yes.

"Okay," Gillian agrees. "I want that, too."

And when she smiles wide, her lips lifting to pull away from her teeth and expose the brilliance of her joy, Cal thinks any sunrise would pale in comparison to her beauty.

* * *

Cal presses down the door handle with an elbow and kicks his office door open with the toe of his boot, his hands full of papers and his laptop and a steaming mug of tea. He manages not to drop anything in the process and straightens up, tightening his grip on his laptop.

When he moves further into the room, laughter rings out from his study, so he drops his load in a pile in the centre of his desk and goes to investigate. He slides the study door over its tracks slowly, so it doesn't make too much noise and alert the room's inhabitants. He spies long, chestnut curls first, noting Emily's presence quickly, then moves closer to see Gillian, head thrown back in laughter as Emily animatedly tells a story, talking with her hands and her face and her body instead of merely her words. Cal draws closer to the pair, ecstatic that the change in his relationship with Gillian had only made the two closer, instead of straining the careful friendship.

"You're making that up," Gillian teases, resting a hand briefly against the young teen's arm.

"No, he _really_ did that," Emily giggles. "I can tell you, I wasn't the only one who found it hilarious. Poor guy had an entire room of teenagers laughing at him."

"Oy! What's so funny?" Cal crosses the room to sit on the arm of the couch where Emily and Gillian are seated.

"It's just something that happened at school," Emily says, her eyes brightened up near amber.

"Do I get to hear this story?"

"Nope," Emily smiles. "It gets less funny every time I tell it."

"Hmm," he comments, pressing his palm against Emily's scalp to run down her curls. "But Gillian gets to have a laugh of it."

"Yeah, Dad," Emily says like it's obvious. "Gillian's a lot cooler than you are."

"Can't disagree with you, there," he smiles.

He looks over at Gillian to find she's smiling, too.

"I should get back to work," Gillian says as she smoothes out her skirt. "Can't skip out on payroll."

"Five minute break," Cal proposes, smiling in that lopsided way that always makes her heart beat funny.

She pauses a beat before answering.

"Fine."

"No breaks. Just got a new case in," Reynolds says from the doorway.

He waves to Emily and quickly focuses back onto his task.

"Not exactly my department, but seems you have quite the knack for rubbing people the wrong way, Lightman."

"Too right," Cal says under his breath, turning more towards the FBI agent.

"US government heard word that some soldiers in the US army have been killing innocent Afghani children. Of course, they need to know if there's any truth to those accusations. It could mean murder charges."

"Children?" Gillian questions, her jaw hanging low like a park swing.

"That's so horrible," Emily chimes in.

"Yeah, it is," Ben says. "So you guys'll help?"

"Meet you in the lab, ten minutes," Cal directs.

Ben turns and walks out of Cal's office, Gillian getting up to follow, so Cal can discuss in private with Emily.

"I want you to go home," he tells her. "I'll be home as soon as I can, even bring dinner."

She looks at him, wide eyed.

"Not too late," she demands. "And no bringing any work home. I know it's important, but you tend to get..."

She makes an absent gesture with her hand in lieu of finishing her thought, a stern look on her face that makes her look just like her mother.

"Yes mum," he replies with equal amounts obedience and snark.

"Ask Gill over, too," she suggests, giving a small smile. "Love you, Dad."

"Love you, Em. I'll see you in a bit.

He gives her a hug before turning to walk back through his office and into the hall.

"What do you have for me?" Cal asks as he steps into the lab.

He plops down in the first swivel chair he finds and scoots his way to the centre console.

"Photos and records of the accused and a video of the soldier who provided the names," Ben replies, handing Cal a USB flash drive.

"That's it?" Cal asks, severely underwhelmed by what was there to work with.

"Well..." Ben trails off and drops his gaze. His eyes then rise to meet Gillian's deliberately. She swallows a sigh.

So, he had talked to her about this. Gillian lowers her own gaze; she refuses to look at him, just crosses one leg over the other and twines her fingers together so her hands rest clasped in her lap.

"Cal, they want you to go to Afghanistan," Gillian says softly, finding the courage to look at his face.

She's met with stony features and a tight tone as he replies.

"I don't believe this," he says. His tone is accusatory but somehow his words remain unemotional. She can't pick out anything.

Gillian clenches both armrests of her chair, her eyes darting between the two men as they have a silent exchange with merely their eyes. Ben breaks his gaze first, looking uncomfortable, but Cal looks even worse despite winning. God, she wishes he wouldn't go. She wishes, but knows that no matter what it is she feels, he's going to have to do this. He raises his eyes to meet hers, steeled near rust-coloured and strong. Her stomach twists into a painful knot, even as she schools her face in the wake of the feeling that washes over her. He's _really_ going to do this, even after the last time, just last Christmas, after the time he nearly hadn't come back.

The mere thought sets her heart racing.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I'm going to attempt twice weekly updates, but no promises_

Chapter Two

"Tell me you're lying!" Emily pushes up from the dinner table, her face pinched and eyes wet with tears. Cal nearly whimpers at the sucker punch he feels at her expression.

He looks over at Gillian, where he'd expect to find a reassuring smile or even just her natural warmth, but she just stares into the bottom of a red paper takeaway carton as if all of life's answers are sitting in there somewhere. Her pair of wooden chopsticks has long since been abandoned on the table in front of her.

"Wish I was, love," he says, his mouth smiles even though the rest of his face refuses to conform to the expression.

"You can't go," she says as she slowly sits back down in the wooden chair. "It's dangerous."

"They're innocent children," he tries to explain. "They can't help themselves."

"You could get _killed_ ," Emily's eyes go wide and the colour drains from her face. "You know I need you. Gill, you have to tell him he can't go."

Gillian's eyes flick up at the moniker, her voice seizing in her throat and her heart thundering. She presses her lips together when they quiver, betraying her emotions. But, her resolve is not as strong as she would hope and tears burn behind her eyelids, threatening to fall. She's already resigned to the fact that she can't change Cal Lightman. She had promised herself when they had first started dating a year ago that she would stop trying to make him different and just let herself love him (let herself risk getting _hurt_ by him).Persuading a person to go against their nature doesn't work in the long run, it just doesn't. It only leads to fallout and conflict and hurt. And it would _kill_ her to ask him to stay and watch him go anyway; it would be just like Alec, just like her father before him, and she can't do that again. It would hurt too much.

"I-" she shrugs into the false start, tearing her eyes away from watery brown and wide ones to stare at the dark wood of the table.

"Gill," Emily says, but it's much more hesitant now as she registers Gillian's expressions.

"Emily, I can't tell him not to go," each word is deliberate as she forces the words out beyond the lump in her throat.

"Why?" she asks like she's talking about her whole life or the universe or something cosmic and huge and unwieldy, not just the way her father has always been.

"Because, Em, in his heart, he can't stay."

Cal's eyes flick to Gillian, who resettles in her chair while she speaks, leaning closer toward Emily. He's not cognisant of the fact himself. She doesn't smile, though, even through the bit of pride he pulls out of her expression. It's terrifying.

"You're a good man, Cal," she says. She meets his eyes for only a moment before it gets too much.

He blinks at her, surprised that she thinks so highly of him, but at the same time not surprised at all. Gillian has always been the kind of woman who could see the good in anyone given enough time. And they'd known each other going on ten years.

She sets down the carton, suddenly completely put off even the distraction of food. She knows that asking for things she knows she can't be given in the hopes of change only ever leaves her hurt. So she doesn't say anything at all.

* * *

Cal opens up his email as the loud rush of water signals the shower going on, his laptop resting over his raised knees as he leans back against the headboard of his bed. He clicks on the newest one from Reynolds, exhaling deeply as the grey squares load into images one at a time. Round, smiling faces and crinkling eyes plague him, the happiness of the children being what hurts most. Happy little kids, oblivious to the destruction all around them, now were dead. Cal scrolls slowly, his focus so complete that he doesn't hear the shower turn off.

He doesn't think about the here and now, he thinks of the past. He thinks of his own little girl smiling for the first time (or passing wind, it's never really been clear to him), her laughter at her third birthday party as she pressed handprints into the chocolate cake, her amusement as she excitedly told Gillian a funny story just earlier that same day. _Innocent._ What if it were Emily? What if she was one of the slain? She was just the same, only a little older, a little farther away.

How could he make her understand that he _had_ to do this, that there was just no way he could say no to an opportunity to help all those young children?

He closes the laptop and gets out of bed, going downstairs in search of his cell phone. He finds it in the living room, wedged between the couch cushions. He dials quickly, pacing in quick circles around the coffee table.

"Hey Reynolds," he tells the answering machine. "It's Lightman. You can tell them to get me on a flight."

"You're really going, then?" comes a voice from behind him just after he tosses his phone back onto the couch.

Gillian stands at the entrance to the kitchen, leaning heavily against the doorframe as if she'd needed the support. She holds a glass of water in her hand that tips dangerously to one side as her bare toes press hard against the tile to ground her.

It's not a question, but he nods anyway.

She nods in return. She knows. She'd always known. It just doesn't stop hurting because she'd prepared for the blow.

"They're innocents," he says.

"I know," she agrees.

She looks innocent herself as she half turns to put her glass of water on the countertop, offering a half smile as she turns back. Her mouth has gone dry, tongue uncomfortable in her mouth, but her hands are too shaky to hold the glass let alone lift it to drink.

"Let's go to bed," she suggests, moving towards him.

"You don't want to talk about this?" he asks.

She _knows_ people. She knows it won't make a difference no matter what she says, not when he's so sure he's doing the right thing. It's not like he doesn't know that she has an entirely different idea of what the right thing to do in this situation.

"Is anything I say going to change your mind?" she asks carefully.

He doesn't say anything, but she finds her answer easily enough in the silence.

"Then there's nothing to talk about," she insists. "Let's just go to bed."

"I'm sorry," Cal says, reaching out to touch her. "I didn't want-"

"I know," Gillian says, letting him wrap his arms around her in a loose hug, letting him take comfort from her.

"I don't want to hurt you, Gill. I don't like that I do," he says the words against her hair, just loud enough that she'll hear him.

"I know," she repeats softly, voice bending towards broken.

"I love you," he tells her, squeezing tighter.

"Back at you," she reassures him. "Back at you."

But, he's not sure that's enough anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Looks like Parker has a record," Loker pipes up. He types something on the keyboard to bring up a file on the screen.

Cal pushes his glasses onto his face, reading over the highlighted parts of the document with a shake of his head. The army official had two records of hate crimes, both buried files barred from public access. One was against a Jewish synagogue of which Parker was accused of vandalising and attempting to light up in flames. And the other was a violent attack on a group of coloured men. To make things worse, there had also been the accusation that he had vandalised government buildings. There was simply no way to be certain.

"That could be significant," Cal tells Loker. "Get Foster on a psych profile."

"Yup," Loker agrees, getting up from his seat.

Cal plops into a nearby chair, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning all the way back. Of the three US soldiers of who he was told were suspected, Parker seems most likely to be involved. The other two soldiers, Redman and Taylor, have no priors and generally seem like decent men. But even decent men can do heinous things, it does happen. So, Cal remains open to the possibility.

Cal sighs, pulling up Parker's interview again to see if he can glean anything more. A sharp staccato clicking gradually increases in volume until Gillian enters the room, stopping short of where he sits. He stops the video without turning away from her, unwilling to focus on anything else. She wears a long-sleeved red blouse and a wispy ponytail; strands of hair fall free to frame her face, making her appear younger than usual. Cal's heart twists so instantly. He doesn't want to leave her.

"Needed me?"

"Always need you, love," he says, dropping the file he'd been holding onto the table.

She rolls her eyes and laughs a little, but plays along.

"I know," she says. "You're hopeless. Now, can I have the file?"

"Guess so."

* * *

Gillian clutches the steering wheel tightly in her hands; her knuckles go white under the pressure. She turns into the airport's parking lot, pulling into the first space she sees. She releases a breath, pent-up nerves roiling in her stomach as she moves the gearshift into park. She turns off the car, her eyes focused completely on Cal in the passenger seat. He feels so far away. Gillian reaches out a hand to breach the space before she can register the action, her breath seizing up as he takes hold and squeezes. It's meant as a comfort, but it doesn't suffice.

Gillian only lets go of his hand long enough to get out of the car and walk around to the other side, her steps quick so she reaches Cal's door just as he steps out of it. Tethered together once more by the hand, they walk into the airport to find where Emily's waiting for them. She had come on her own, so she wouldn't have to miss any school to be there.

The airport is quiet at this time, yet still busy, people rushing around to ensure they don't miss their flights. Gillian follows a well known path to where Emily had told her she would be waiting, when Cal pulls on her hand hard until she stops moving. She gasps, but follows the movement.

"You can't not say it," he says, his voice softened so that his words are only for her.

"What do you mean?"

"All the things you want to say, you have to say them."

She tenses for a moment, feeling like she'd been caught in a lie. But, Cal's expression is more adoration than accusation. Actually, it's not accusation at all.

"I... I'm so afraid," she admits slowly as she sways closer to him.

He wraps her up in his embrace, the wool of his sweater soft against her cheek.

"You got so lucky the last time and I could've never had the chance to tell you. I could've never known," she says into his neck, closing her eyes against an onslaught of tears.

"You do know, Gill. I love you. Always," he says, pulling back to look at her.

She nods and sniffles, looking down to her feet and then back up at him, her eyes wide blue saucers.

"You don't get lucky twice, Cal. You don't. Promise me you'll be careful," the words are desperate, strained, echoing _'don't leave me'_ in the air.

"Promise," he says instantly.

"Good. 'Cause I love you, too. And I don't want to lose you."

"There it is," Cal says as the truth erupts from the confines of her chest.

"There it is," Gillian moves in for another hug.

* * *

Gillian stifles a yawn as Cal hugs his daughter goodbye, waiting just to the side.

"You didn't get enough sleep," Cal fusses as he comes away from his little girl, his hands brushing over Gillian's cheeks as soon as he's close enough.

"I dreamt," Gillian half-heartedly explains.

"Bad things," he notes, pulling her into a hug also.

"You have to take care of yourself, too. Sleep," he insists to which she nods against his shoulder.

"I'm sure I'll be back by Christmas," he says, pulling up a smile as he pulls away.

She cuts off his optimism with a kiss, with the plea not to make her hope when it only makes the hurting greater.

"Christmas," she repeats with a small smile when she puts space between them.

She hopes it's not a lie.

Turning to Emily, she takes another step away from Cal, throwing an arm over the girl's shoulders. Cal waves as he goes, calling off a final 'I love you' as he heads towards the terminal where a helicopter waits to fly him to Afghanistan.

"Are you afraid?" Emily asks, untucking herself from Gillian's embrace to peer up at her.

"Yes," Gillian readily admits. "Very afraid."

"Me too," Emily agrees, threading her arm between Gillian's.

Gillian sighs, trying to think of something to say. It doesn't even have to be comforting; it just has to be true.

"Do you remember last December, when your dad went to Afghanistan?"

Emily nods, but her expression goes still.

"We were scared then, too. But everything was okay. Everything was better than okay."

 _'Fear isn't always something to run from,'_ Gillian remembers. _'Fear is healthy. Don't forget it.'_

"You two were dating by Christmas," Emily smiles.

"Weeks before," Gillian admits. "After the Christmas party."

Emily's eyes widen and she blinks rapidly for a few moments.

"Fear," she supplies with a slow nod of her head.

"Exactly," Gillian agrees. "Something good could come out of this."

"Something good," she repeats slowly. "Thanks, Gill."

Gillian just smiles. She has nothing more to offer.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

It takes her three days in his space to realise she can't stay. His essence is strong in every room; a pulsing heartbeat. But, it just makes her heart hurt. So, she packs a bag slowly and carefully on a Friday evening when she should be relaxing, refolding clothes and wasting time because walking away right now feels like a betrayal, feels like surrender. It's almost as if she's expecting him not to come home, preparing to be without him. It would be this painful at least if he really was gone from her, if he really did leave her with all his ghosts in his belongings and space. So, she goes, bag slung over her shoulder and yearning on her face. She'll come back when he does. It's only fair.

She'd sent him her psych reports today. She pretends she can feel them breach the distance as she drives from his house to hers, imagines him tearing open the envelope she so carefully sealed, eager to get at the contents. Not a patient man, Cal Lightman, not for anyone but her and Emily. He'd smile when he pulled out the crisp white pages, not because he would be happy to read how very possible it was for any of these men to be involved, but because the pages bear her mark. Her hopes and pleas are etched between the lines where only he can read them, her 'Be careful's and 'Come back to me's. If he tries hard enough, he could probably even pick up her scent. She'd sent him a piece of her heart in an envelope stamped The Lightman Group. She just has to wait for him to return to give her more of his.

She opens the door to her apartment. A cool gust of air brushes against her skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. It's nearly worse than being in his house. Here, he isn't present at all. Gillian is completely alone. It reminds her of the first night of her separation from Alec, when the space had felt so empty, so large. She adjusts the thermostat, cleans the dust out of the kitchen, fills her mind with aimless tasks. She nearly jumps out of her skin when her cell phone rings, shattering the illusion of normalcy.

"Gill," it's Emily, her voice soft and round and questioning.

"Yeah. I'm here," Gillian replies.

"Are you... coming home? It's late."

"No, Em. Just... not tonight."

"It's Friday," Emily says softly.

"You're right," Gill sighs. "I should be there. I'll just-"

"No, Gill. It's okay. I don't exactly want to be there myself. Just stay where you are and I'll come meet you somewhere tomorrow."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," she says. "Tomorrow."

They exchange goodnights and disconnect the call. Gillian feels even more lost.

She turns out the lights as she heads to her bedroom, ready to fall into bed and wake up to a new day. But, she doesn't fall asleep, just stares at the ceiling all night, watching as the sun slowly creeps up over the horizon and steals her last chances of sleep.

* * *

He is lucky his answers come so quickly. Three days after he steps off of a helicopter into sand and heat and fear, the little fracture he'd found in the facade and picked at and picked at and picked at finally blooms, finally spreads and gapes open. And although the three soldiers are sitting in a perfectly straight line, backs ramrod straight in front of a slumping and strange Cal Lightman, they are intimidated, afraid. They are telling everything. Cal doesn't even say anything more. Everything is laid out to him that clearly. He stands up and walks away, back to the base where his contact waits to hear from him.

He pops his head into the room before he walks in, announcing his arrival.

"I've got your answers," he says.

"That quick?"

"These men can't tell lies to save their lives."

"Ah" is the reply. "So what's the verdict?"

"Every one of them. They've all got a part in it."

* * *

His mouth is fuzzy. It feels like its full of cotton balls or the marshmallows Emily had had him stuff into his mouth while she made him repeat a phrase about a bunny and put it on video for all of her friends to see. His wrists ache and resist when he pulls at them, tethered by some sort of fabric. He knows what this means, knows what's been done to him.

The room is lit by weak beams of sunlight from the tiny window. He's missed the sunrise. He's suddenly struck with how cold it is, how his skin is covered in goose bumps and his body shivers.

God, his girls. They were waiting for him and they'd have no clue what was happening for some time. It would be Gill that they'd tell he'd gone missing. It would devastate her and anger her at once. He can picture her face in his mind, how she'd look when she'd see him again, that look of scorn and anger and relief and love. They had just barely admitted their love to each other; they hardly had any time together at all. There was so much more that they were meant to do, that they were meant to be. He can't let this be the end. He can't let himself get stuck here like the man he's met last year who'd just wanted to help and got all tangled up in things and never got to go home. He is not going to let that happen. He's got to get home. There are girls who are waiting for him, who love him. He's not going to leave them alone.

 _A/N: It has been ages since I last updated this. So much writer's block! So sorry it's not the best quality. Never would've gotten this done without Franklin Gothic Book (sorry TNR), A Day to Remember and 2009 Avril Lavigne, the abandonment of my outline, and eight updates in 6 days by HK145 for inspiration. It can be hard to write characters you know very well because sometimes you forget to let_ them _lead you and not the other way around. I think I get that now._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The kick to his gut that wakes him is so hard that Cal's convinced the worn brown boot is steel-toed, though there's no lustre to it. He groans and curls in on himself as much as his body will allow. His feet are bound and tied to a beam in the otherwise bare room, so he doesn't have full range of his body.

"Why're you doing this?" He says as he forces his body into straightening. "It's not right!"

The man to whom the boot belongs seems to be mute. So Cal asks again, louder this time. The response is merely another kick, to the shins this time.

"I only did-" he groans as another kick lands on his stomach. "What I was asked."

The next is to the side.

"God," says Cal, letting out a breath.

But the blows don't stop coming.

* * *

Cal is not afraid of the dark. He has not been afraid to wake in the yet-unlit hours since he was a little boy, startled awake by heavy boots shattering the silence with slow steps and unable to rest again. When the night seemed to suffocate him and his breaths came in shallow gasps that left him so hungry for oxygen, he'd call for his mother and she would come. Wound up in her fuzzy yellow robe that made her look funny, like a duck, hair wild and eyes glittering, she would say "don't be scared, Cal. The sun's coming up soon." And he'd take a deep breath, nod solemnly, and close his eyes tight, letting the darkness take over everything. And she would stay. She would stay and make the dark feel a lot brighter just by her being there.

Cal is not afraid of the dark. Even as the dusty smell and dank, moist air chokes up his lungs, he's not afraid. He's not on edge, waiting for monsters to jump out at him. He's not seeing things that aren't really there in the shadows, making faces and evils of the shapes and structures of the room. He's not yearning for the simple comfort of the presence of those who care for him, look out for him, and love him, not yearning for the touch of those he loves. No, Cal is not afraid of the dark. He's simply afraid he's not going to get another dawn.


	6. Chapter 6

_"Cal?" Gillian's voice is quiet and unsure, ringing through the space of Lightman's study._

 _"In here!"_

 _Gillian pushes open the door and steps inside, pulling it shut behind her. Cal is lying draped across the entirety of the couch. His forearm rests over his eyes._

 _Gillian sighs. She walks to the couch, lifting his limbs to make room before sitting down._

 _"You okay?" She asks._

 _"Fine, just hate parties. Everyone's lying for no good reason. You know the pointless, social ones."_

 _"I guess."_

 _Gillian leans back to rest her head against the back of the chair. The room is nearly silent. Gillian tries to pick out the sound of Cal's breathing._

 _"I'm glad you're okay," she says smiling._

 _"Me, too."_

 _He shifts into sitting, causing the couch cushions to bounce and sway. Gillian grips some of its fabric to steady herself. He sits open and facing her, looking over her features with interest._

"I'm _okay, Cal."_

 _He barely meets her eyes as she speaks, still looking for some sign of distress. Finally, he nods. He lets his body go lax, his limbs finding homes in all different directions, one of his arms settling around her shoulders._

 _"I was afraid," she makes the admission seem lighter with a shrug of her shoulders._

 _"Of what? Running this place without its charming British namesake?"_

 _"No." She sighs, fighting the blush that warns its impending appearance with a subtle warmth._

 _"I was afraid I'd lost you."_

 _"Lost me?"_

 _"Mmhmm. As a partner and a friend and..."_

 _The warmth wins, spreading over her face and chest. She has the sudden desire to touch her cheek, but she doesn't._

 _"And what else?" Cal grins._

 _"And, well, the closest thing to family I've got."_

 _Cal's smile widens and softens the rest of his features._

 _"You are family."_

 _He says it without hesitation, reservation. Gillian smiles._

 _"Thanks. That means more than you know."_

 _Gillian stands abruptly. Cal's heart picks up._

 _"I should get back out there," she says as she forces a smile. "You, too."_

 _He waves her off._

 _"I'll find you later."_

 _Gillian sighs, looking over her shoulder at the door, then back at Cal. He wishes she'd stay._

 _"Okay."_

 _Gillian turns, but doesn't walk away right away. But, she doesn't turn back either. After a moment, she leaves to rejoin the party, leaves the place that swells with too much possibility where she had believed there wasn't any._

A/N: I apologise for the space between updates. Should hopefully be quicker from here on out.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Gillian doesn't realise the extent of her hunger until she's drooling over the menu at the chic little cafe she'd found. She looks at Emily over the top of the plastic folder, merely seeing the top of the girl's head, brown hair tied up by a neon green elastic.

"Found something?" she asks.

Emily looks up, shaking her head.

"Everything looks so good!"

Gillian nods.

"If it's good, we can come back. Try something else."

"That'd be cool," Emily agrees, taking one more look over the menu. "Okay, pain au chocolat it is."

"Good choice," Gillian smiles.

When the waitress comes over to take their orders, Gillian settles on savoury dill and cheese crepes.

The food comes quickly, but is warm and tasty. The two women's eyes meet in a promise: come back... a lot. They eat together mostly in silence, Gillian gazing out the large bay window.

"How long do you think until Dad comes home?" Emily breaks the silence.

"I don't know, Em. Hopefully soon."

Emily hums. "I hope he's okay."

"He is," Gillian says. "He has to be."

* * *

Gillian brings her bag back to Cal's house; her home-to-be. She carries it upstairs and places it on the bed, calling out to Emily.

Emily pokes her head out of her bedroom, removing headphones from her ears. "Yes?"

"I was gonna get a start on dinner," Gillian says. She's a brave woman to return and get right back into near-motherly duties in taking care of Emily while her dad is away. "Any requests?"

Emily pushes her hair back from her face, brightening the hall with her smile.

"Your everything but the kitchen sink pot pie! Teach me your ways!"

Gillian smiles, just barely restraining the mischief.

"Alright. But, I can't reveal the secret ingredient. If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

"Wow Gillian. I never took you for a murderer."

"Who said I ever told anybody?"

"Nobody _said,_ but Dad did recreate your specialty not too long ago. It tasted pretty spot on."

Gillian smiles. "You mean the one I froze for you guys when I went to Charleston that weekend?"

"Oh my god! I can't believe I didn't see his lie."

Gillian grins. She's forgotten to feel fear, grounded in memories and anecdotes about Cal shared both by and with his daughter.

* * *

The weekend passes by slowly, soon blurring into Monday, shifting into Tuesday. Then, Gillian gets a call.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's the lieutenant... I'm calling about Dr. Lightman."

Before he finishes speaking, her phone clatters to the ground, bouncing along the tile. She knew Afghanistan was not the place for men like Cal Lightman.


End file.
